


RED

by muddledmorrigan



Series: Teen Wolf Poem'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Derek Hale as the Big Bad Wolf, First Meetings, M/M, Mentioned Claudia Stilinski - Freeform, Mentioned Sheriff Stilinski, Or Claudia knew about them at least, Poetry, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muddledmorrigan/pseuds/muddledmorrigan
Summary: AU poem fic where Stiles is Little Red and Derek is the Big Bad Wolf his mother told him about.chapters are revised drafts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was experimenting with voice for my poetry class and decided to try my hand at some Teen Wolf/Sterek inspired poetry. So here it is. It's pretty much a pretty your basic Little Red AU. I tried to be a bit different though, not sure how that worked out. Comments and kudos would be appreciated I'm open to all of the constructive criticism I can get seeing as my prof didn't mark any comments. (:

Crimson hoodie zipped up tight in the subtle California breeze,   
to be fair he is far is far too frail to feel any heat.  
Triggered by his own thoughts. he found himself on  
a journey through the woods to his mother’s grave.  
Its midnight and he forgot to check the moon.  
His mother always told him the stories,  
ones he stopped believing in along with Santa Claus.  
but seeing his father in uniform sneaking presents under the tree was nothing  
compared to what he was about to see.  
The man was no taller than himself but made up for it in size,  
comparatively larger and a presence to match.  
Oozing cockiness that could only be equipped from one place  
but Stiles was taught never to be afraid of a child of the moon.


	2. RED - draft 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised a bit, let me know what you think.  
> As always kudos and comments are appreciated.

When he was four years old, his mother gifted him with a coat.  
It was a deep red, merlot. Hooded, and zipper up the front.  
When he was six, and it began not to fit and his father made a vow.  
A new hoodie every year, identical to the last. Bundled up tight   
in the subtle California breeze, triggered by his own thoughts   
he found himself on a journey to his mother’s grave.   
It’s nights like this that remind him of her, when the moon looks   
as if it was hung only a few feet away. She would tell him stories,   
ones he stopped believing with along with Santa Claus.   
Seeing is believing and only one of those things he had ever saw.  
And Santa wore a Sheriffs suit. His mother spoke of many unfathomable things,   
and with reason. It’s hard to make a statement when your brain is in pieces.   
She was buried out on the edge of town, near the burned down Hale house.  
She always loved the woods, claimed it was her second home. As he cleared the trees  
he began to startle at the scene. The man was just as tall,  
but he made up for it in size. Muscle and ego gave way to a presence to match.  
He oozed the cockiness that he couldn’t help but to equate to the lore his mother passed,  
thankfully she always taught Stiles to never to be afraid of a child of the moon


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling this one, but at the same time the end kinda rhymes and idk how I feel about that. Anywho, real talk pls tell me what you think. pls and thx.

Bundled up tight, in the subtle California breeze,   
triggered by his own thoughts, he found himself on a journey   
to his mother’s grave. The egotistical moon   
took up all of the room in the sky. Its nights like this   
that he barely remembered she was gone. Taking him back to   
when he turned four years old and she gifted him with a coat.  
It was a deep red, merlot. Hooded, and zipper up the front.  
Please remember me, stitched in every seam.  
Comfortably worn holes and stretched a bit too tight, after two years  
and 12 steps his father began to replace the worn out garment when needed,   
all identical to the first. 

Before,  
his mother would tell him stories,   
ones he stopped believing in along with Santa Claus.   
She told him about the family that lived out in the woods.  
In their own little world just on the border of Beacon County.   
Nights when the moon was hung just a few feet away  
they would swing on their front porch and listen.  
For rustling leaves and choked out howls, he could never sit still  
long enough to hear what his mother swore was there.   
Santa wore a Sheriffs suit and his mother lost her mind.

She was buried out on the edge of town. Near the burned down Hale house.  
Where the family she spoke of proved they weren’t as invincible as she claimed.  
The packed house went down, taking all but three.   
Passing by the charred remains,   
he wondered how his mother would have taken the news.  
He imagined she might have cried. He could almost see her,  
on their shared moonlit nights. Burdened body draped over wobbly knees  
on that front porch swing. Complete silence aside from sobs.   
Similar to the ones restrained as he kneeled by her weathered headstone  
hidden behind the trees. Her final resting place, in her second home. 

After,  
the dam broke, it was time to go.   
Rising, he noticed a figure observing from the tree line.   
Had he not known any better he would assume it was one of his father’s deputies.  
Sent out in search for him once his father noticed he wasn’t home.   
But his phone read thirty minutes until midnight and no missed calls.   
Moving closer, he could see a man no taller than himself but whose presence  
he could only relate back to his mother’s stories and full moon nights.  
Not a howl in the distance but bright blue eyes led him to believe his mother had never lied.


End file.
